


If You Could Save Me

by AkaneOwari



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/F, Fallout AU, Said characters will be added into tags when they appear, This might become a fullout story that will include other characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 14:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkaneOwari/pseuds/AkaneOwari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christa Reiss did not regret sneaking away from the haven of the vault, the sanctum that she was supposed to be unable to leave, that preached survival and hope against a world above that could only spell despair, death, hatred, a landscape painted bleak and ugly with only the holy bunkers to provide life and light. She did not know if she would be able to return, or if they had already discovered her absence, and come to the conclusion that she was tainted by the devils hand, the poison in the air left by the demons of a different world, green that would swirl with the beautiful, rich red blood and twist it into a sin, leave her body reeking with disgusting change that a lamb of God would even be turned from the holy gates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Could Save Me

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote a fallout au, and was originally planning on this being a oneshot, but...i want to come back and expand on this. kudos/comment if you like it, so that i may be more inclined to write more if people are interested!

Drip.

 

Drip.

 

Drip.

 

“Please come out.” Her voice brushed through the air in a whisper, defying the setting that desired to echo words; it was loud in the space void of new sounds, like the touch of an angel on a sick mans forehead, bathing new light and warmth where the sun could not reach.

She was met with silence in return. 

Though it was not actually silent, in any means; the dripping of sewer water was every few seconds, rhythmic and easy to stop hearing after a mere matter of time; then, of course, there were the groans and cries from miles down the tunnels, easy to forget about so long as they did not near, only teasing the weary with fear.

Though she was met without words, left in her own silence of her mind, she could feel a response. Would it be something she could feel because of an initial instinct that led her hear, or because the radiation had taken such a toll that empathy had morphed into an entirely new degree, or just that some kind of blessed and cursed fate had allowed a connection of minds....She was unsure. But that would be to assume that she could care too much over it, that she was worried or regretful of where she had put herself-and no such thing was true. Though the fears of this outside world did strike an unforgettable anxiety deep-rooted to the pit of her stomach, joints of her arm that gripped metal with cold, creaky fingers, to her legs, which shivered in preparation to jump up at any given time-she did not regret, she did not think, 'what if'. 

Christa Reiss did not regret sneaking away from the haven of the vault, the sanctum that she was supposed to be unable to leave, that preached survival and hope against a world above that could only spell despair, death, hatred, a landscape painted bleak and ugly with only the holy bunkers to provide life and light. She did not know if she would be able to return, or if they had already discovered her absence, and come to the conclusion that she was tainted by the devils hand, the poison in the air left by the demons of a different world, green that would swirl with the beautiful, rich red blood and twist it into a sin, leave her body reeking with disgusting change that a lamb of God would even be turned from the holy gates. 

“I'm not leaving.” It was a promise and a threat. The rubble shattered from the ancient tunnels let out the wheeze of it's hiding partner. The noise echoed, unlike the sweet kiss of the angel, though it heeded no attention from the ghastly monsters lurking far away, for it was their very own noise, from one of their own kind. It was indeed a ghoul that Christa spoke to; a monster by definition, human-like in appearance, most people would call them. People ravaged by radiation were left looking more than inhuman-hair fell out, their skin turning repulsive shades of greys and greens and blacks and blues, veins of poisoned blood pulsing against bone-tight skin.

“Leave me be, human,” came the raspy response; it hurt Christa, almost-did she consider herself so different as not be human? Christa could hardly imagine what it would be like to not feel human; she wanted to know what went on in the mind of human origin that would make you feel as if you might be anything else, if the thought process were different.

“I can't,” she whispered, and her tone was something new, something past the kiss that barely breached a few feet to be known-her words struck like an arrow, aimed precisely at target, wasting no time to shoot over the governed air and reach home. They were words to listen to, not merely acknowledge; words you could not ignore, and any attempt to even do so would be met with a hanging silence of tension that would not die without answer, or the lost interest of Christa; the latter would not be an option.

“Yes, you can. You stand up and leave, walk back out before the ghouls take notice of you,” replied the rough voice, words spat out as if they'd been hacked into pieces, and someone had taken petty glue to them; Christa heard others discuss that the voice of a ghoul was repulsive, comparable to nails on a chalkboard(she had never heard such a noise, but was assured it was quite terrible), but though it was certainly a type of voice she wasn't used to, she wasn't off-put by it, much less disgusted. 

She chose to ignore what she said to me, and proceed so that the ghoul may realize that she was not going anywhere; the world outside was a damned fate of dying a death of undecided gruesome pain or a merciful painless one; be by the hands of the ruthless raiders or mindless beasts, survival outside is impossible alone.

“What's your name?” Perching the arrow over the strong of the bow.

“What's it matter to you?” The ghoul hissed.

“Because I want to know. Is that so bad?”

“You shouldn't care. I'm not like you; just leave me to die.”

“If I leave you to die, I'd leave myself to die. So, yes, I do care. It's...It's not like I'd just leave you to die, anyway...That'd be cruel...”

There was a pause, and Christa could hear the ghoul shuffling position. 

“You're talking as if you think I'd go with you.” Her harsh voice made it almost sound painful to talk; it had sounded angry and aggressive, bashing in argument with Christa; though this had come out softer, still naturally rough, but filled with a more tired tone, as if the anger was trying to run dry.

“Because that's what I intend.” She said it louder, flinching in the prospect that it was too loud, and would attract unwanted attention; but she could not retract it, and sat brave still, breath hitching in anxiety and frustration. 

“Why would I?” It came out mocking, as if scolding her for even imaging that she might consider traveling with the small girl; Christa couldn't help but flinch, glancing up at the ceiling. She wouldn't back away, though-the prospect of leaving even the Hellish chambers of the sewers for the suffocating wasteland above. 

“Because you're not a bad person,” Christa murmured, and it was as if she had loosed the arrow after a well aim, and the shatter of the tension in the air was immense, a pour of wonderment streaming like a pool, filling in place where the glass that held it back used to be. “And I will die if you don't come back with me. I'll be rejected from the Vault I came from; they know I am gone by now.”

There was a long silence; one so long that it seemed to want to rebuild the tension, but the mass of differing pressures was too great to allow it to become. It was futile, the ghoul knew, and to the delight of Christa, whose pale-pink lips, hardly touched by the scalding sunlight that streamed through chemical heavy, pulled into a victorious smile when she heard the ragged, defeated sigh.

In the dim lights of the tunnel that once allowed the travel of subway trains; which lay piled, crashed, melted, dead; a figure of medium height rose, grey skin illuminated enough to barely see more than just a little detail. Her eyes gave an interesting brown glow; she looked anything short of dead, but they shone with a fighting life that she had not ever seen in even a person untouched by radiation. 

“....My name is Ymir.”


End file.
